


all of my love

by daydoodles



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Beating, Blood, Burning, Dysfunctional Relationships, Gore, Implied Stalking, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Improper use of hockey equipment, M/M, Murder, Stabbing, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, Yandere, implied alcohol use, smothering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 14:21:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12411981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daydoodles/pseuds/daydoodles
Summary: What do I have to do to make you want to fall in love with me?





	all of my love

**Author's Note:**

> Okay well, it's spooky season right? So I wanted to write something for [Omgcpumpkins](http://omgcpumpkins.tumblr.com), and my weeb ass was like "Why hasn't anyone written yandere Kent yet? If OMGCP was an anime, Kent would be the biggest yandere ever??" and so I just kind of word vomited this.
> 
> Also, the title and description are from [this song](https://youtu.be/OenHttMF_Dc).

Kent Parson has a problem.

Namely, that problem is Eric Bittle. Oh, sorry. His name is Bitty. Whatever the fuck that’s supposed to be.

Bitty isn’t a bad person, or he wouldn’t seem like he is to anyone else, anyway; but Kent knows the truth. Bitty is stealing Jack from him. He can see it in the way they look at each other, the way they stand, the way Bitty blushes any time Jack says so much as five words to him.

He can see it in all the little things, because Bitty holds onto them the way Kent used to - the way he should still be. And he _would_ be, but Jack won’t fucking listen.

“I know everything about you, Zimms, I know what you need. The Aces would be good for you, being lineys again would be good for you,” Kent tells him.

Jack sighs, and it sounds like resignation but the words he says next sound like defiance. “Kenny, not even I know what I need half the time. How could you?”

How dare he think Kent doesn’t know what he needs. Kent loves him. He’s supposed to love Kent, too. That’s how it works. “Because I’m me, Jack, and you’re you. We’ll always be us.” It should be a given.

Jack leans against his bedroom wall. “That might be all the more reason to avoid playing together.”

Kent pops his jaw a few times, clenches his fists. Releases the tension. Rinse and repeat. “What the fuck, Jack?” Jack doesn’t look surprised by the question, but he also doesn’t seem to think it warrants an answer. Kent tenses, steps closer, pins Jack against the wall. “Why won’t you do this for us?”

Jack rolls his eyes, looks down at Kent like he’s lost his mind. “There is no us, Kenny. That ended ten years ago.”

And really, Jack should know better. He’s known Kent for so long, knows that ten years without Jack might as well be eternity, knows that rejection is Kent’s breaking point. He’s reached his limit, he’s bound to snap. He does.

And ten years worth of tension is a lot of kickback.

He doesn’t do anything for a split second, because at first he can’t believe Jack is doing this. _He knows, he knows, he knows,_ Kent keeps telling himself. If he knows, he must be okay with the consequences. He must want this, or if he doesn’t, he’ll want Kent by the end of it, if only to make it stop.

Kent leaves, slams open the door only to see Bitty in the hallway, and he’s tempted to start right then and there; but that would be too obvious, too traceable. It only works if Jack can’t trace it back to Kent. Even though, Kent reminds himself, Jack knew this would happen. He had to.

A week passes before Kent can make it back to Samwell. Bitty and Jack practise early in Faber, he knows, so he has to make it quick and clean and finish before dawn. It’s a random Tuesday, not a day worth noting, so no one is out to pay attention to Kent as he makes his way to the Haus in the dark. It’s that weird time of limbo where it’s too late to be night but too early to be day, and the sliver of sun on the horizon is letting off just enough light for Kent to see what he’s doing.

It’s easy, it’s quick. All it takes is a pillow to the face, and the physical advantage of being a professional athlete who works out three times a day. Bitty goes still, and when Kent moves the pillow, it looks like he’s still sleeping. It’s anticlimactic, to say the least, but it will do.

Jack still doesn’t talk to him, even though he sees the story in the news, online, it’s everywhere. Jack refuses all requests for a comment. Kent doesn’t know what to do with that.

Bitty must not have been the problem, then, or surely Jack would have reached out to him. But if Bitty wasn’t the one to blame, who is?

It must be that one whose real name Kent can never remember - Shitty, he goes by. He’s been way too buddy-buddy with Jack since they started college, and he’s probably skewed Jack’s view of Kent. Shitty’s kind of a snob, and Kent will be damned if he lets that rub off on his Jack.

This project takes a bit more...finesse. Shitty isn’t as oblivious as Bitty was (Southern hospitality and all that shit, gotta see the best in everyone.) so Kent has to plan his move carefully. Shitty’s also a known partier, so his cover is easy enough to find.

They throw another Kegster a few weeks later in celebration of something Kent didn’t bother to make note of, a meagre attempt at normalcy. So naturally, just like always, Shitty makes the infamous tub juice Kent refuses to try, and it keeps him busy most of the day. Which also means he’s alone most of the day, because the others won’t go near that shit till they’re tipsy, at least.

Getting into the Haus is the biggest challenge, but Kent knows about the Reading Room and he knows that Lardo won’t go up there to smoke without Shitty, so he’s free to use it as his entryway. The bathroom isn’t hard to get to once he’s inside, it just takes some careful timing and well-placed steps to avoid creaky floorboards.

Once he gets to the bathroom, the dilemma is simply how to go about it. He could always drown Shitty in the fucking tub juice he loves so much, but that would be too risky, since people tend to splash a lot when they drown. Kent can’t draw attention to himself, so that’s not an option. Too noisy.

He steps back into Jack and Shitty’s room to avoid being seen prematurely, and nearly trips over his saving grace: a pair of skates, thrown haphazardly in a pile by the door. He grabs one, wields it like a knife, and charges.

Shitty’s stronger than Bitty was, but still not at the level of a professional athlete, so Kent’s able to get his free hand over Shitty’s mouth to muffle any screams. Between that and the tub running, no one will notice a thing till it’s far too late.

It only takes a single swipe of the blade to the jugular, and Shitty falls face first into a tub full of alcohol. It’s ironic, probably, in some way. Kent doesn’t care enough to connect the dots, he just drops the skate and leaves the way he came.

It takes thirty minutes for anyone to discover the body. It’s on the news again; the police think it might be the work of a serial killer. Idiots.

Jack still doesn’t call.

Which makes sense, because really, how did Kent not see it sooner? Of course it’s Bob and Alicia that are keeping Jack from him. They were there for the overdose, the fallout, the lost dreams. They probably think they’re protecting Jack. It would be sweet, if it wasn’t so sad. They should worry more about protecting themselves.

Kent has to wait three weeks this time, which nearly drives him insane, but he has no other excuse to go to Montreal till the Aces play the Habs. He doesn’t tell Bob and Alicia he’ll stop by, since he’s long since dropped the habit of texting them, and at least this way, the element of surprise is on his side.

He knocks, and Bob answers. “Kent?” he says with a furrowed brow. He doesn’t look mad, just confused.

“Hey, Bob. Is Alicia in? I thought we could all catch up before the game tomorrow.”

Alicia calls from another room to ask who it is, and Bob lets Kent over the threshold as he replies. “It’s been awhile, son.” He eyes Kent up and down, and Kent gives him the big, sad eyes he’s perfected down to an art.

“Too long, Bob. Too long.” If only Kent had seen the truth sooner, it wouldn’t have taken this long.

Alicia is setting the table, since Bob’s finishing up dinner, and Kent can see she’s nearly done. He needs to get started while they’re still separated, or this will be a lot messier than he wants.

“Need help?” he asks Alicia, because they all know how useless Kent is in the kitchen.

“Sure, Kenny. Would you mind grabbing the silverware?” She keeps folding the napkins, as methodical as Kent remembers.

“Got it,” is all he says, and follows her around the table setting out forks and spoons on the freshly laid napkins. He makes small talk to distract her from the fact that one of the place settings is missing a steak knife.

Then he asks if he can talk to her about Jack, and she starts a little, but then she just looks sad. “What about him?” She sounds wary, like maybe she’s been expecting this since Kent showed up in her dining room out of the blue.

What she isn’t expecting is a steak knife to the forehead, but life is funny like that, sometimes.

She doesn’t make much noise, since the effect is almost instant, and the shock of being stabbed covers the nanosecond she would have had to respond in any physical way. Kent sits her down at the table so she doesn’t make a thud, wipes the blood off on one of her perfectly folded napkins, and goes to the kitchen.

“You done already?” Bob asks, nearly finished plating the steak and potatoes.

“Alicia’s just adding the final touches.” Kent smiles, and Bob smiles back, but it doesn't reach his eyes. “Need help with the plates?”

Bob nods, and Kent knows he needs to act fast because it seems like Bob can tell something is off. Thankfully, the stove isn’t, so Kent just has to pin Bob’s arms behind his back and one good shove sends his face straight to the burner. It’s not exactly the most effective method, but cooking alive is also not the worst way to go.

It takes what seems like an hour, but eventually Bob goes still, and Kent turns off the stove. Fire hazard, and all. He doesn’t have to worry about anyone hearing this time, so he just lets Bob’s limp form slide to the floor. Some of the more charred bits fall off onto the tile, which is a shame. Bob was really proud of his kitchen.

It makes the news again, they speculate about who could possibly want the incredibly charismatic Zimmermanns dead, Jack refuses to comment. The usual.

And, like usual, Jack still doesn’t call.

It’s at this point that Kent really, truly, snaps. Maybe it’s because he clearly doesn’t know Jack as well as he thought he did, since he can’t even figure out who’s coming between them, or maybe it’s just that his patience has finally run out. Maybe it’s both.

Either way, he decides it’s time to pay his Jack a visit.

He shows up in Jack’s room one day (through the Reading Room again, since Shitty isn’t there so Lardo won’t be smoking and the only person who might be in the bedroom is Jack), and Jack senses him before he sees him.

“Hey, Zimms. Didja miss me?”

Jack turns around in slow motion, and Kent can’t tell if his face is frozen in fear or anger. If Jack had any sense, it would be both, but he must not because he did ask for this only a couple months ago. “It was you, wasn’t it?” is not the response Kent was going for, but he cracks a lopsided smile anyway.

“Awh, is that why you wouldn’t talk to the press? Because you knew?”

He takes a step closer, and Jack takes one back, the back of his knees hitting the bed that had once been Shitty’s. “No, I didn’t talk to the press because I was traumatised. You killed four of the people I loved most in this world, Kent.” Jack tugs at his hair, like he does when he’s nervous. Kent missed that, being able to make Jack nervous.

“That was the problem, Zimms. If you loved them, what would happen to me?”

“What would - are you shitting me?” Jack’s head snaps up, eyes on fire. Kent missed that, too. Recovered Jack is boring, dull. He likes the Jack with life in his eyes. “If I hadn’t been so convinced I was delusional, I would have reported you to the police ages ago, and you would be rotting in prison for the rest of your demented fucking life.”

Kent scoffs. “Well what else was I supposed to do, Jack? I only did it because they were getting in the way of us - I did it for _you_.” 

The fire burns brighter, and Jack finally takes a step forward. “They weren’t the problem, Kenny. You are. I couldn’t love you if you killed everyone else on the fucking planet, and you were my only option. You’re a monster. Why would I ever be with you?”

Kent can feel the life drain out of his eyes. This is not how it was supposed to go. He fixed it, he eliminated the problems. Why is Jack still rejecting him? It makes no sense. “Say that again.”

“I said, I don’t love you because of _you!_ Don’t try to blame it on anyone else.” Jack glares at him, like he’s so angry he doesn’t know what else to do with himself.

Kent looks up at Jack, eyes blank. “So you’re saying we’ll never be together again?”

“Over my dead body.”

Oh, so this is what Jack was going for. That makes more sense.

Kent tangles a fist in the front of Jack’s shirt and pulls, crashes his lips against Jack’s, and he must bite down at some point because he tastes blood. It tastes like retribution. “If that’s what you want, Zimms.”

Jack starts to say something, but Kent’s kissing him again, so it’s impossible to make out what it is. Jack is strong, though, strong enough to push Kent off and make a break for the door. But Kent’s smaller, so he’s faster, and he gets there first.

He clicks the lock. “No way, Zimms. You asked for this, and since I love you, I only aim to please.”

Jack opens his mouth, probably to make some snarky ass remark about calling the police, but Kent’s already grabbing Jack’s hockey stick that was leaning against the wall and bashing it full force against his temple. Jack goes down with a thump, and he’s unconscious, but that’s not good enough.

Kent swings the stick again and again, and his aim isn’t the best it’s ever been but it’s not horrible either, so he manages to cut a sizeable gash in the side of Jack’s head. Kent’s no doctor, so he plays it safe, and slashes Jack’s neck for good measure. It’s hard to tell, but he thinks Jack’s bleeding out; his pulse is weak, so it probably won’t take long.

Kent hauls Jack out to his Porsche, and for once he doesn’t give a shit if the seats get dirty or the paint gets scratched. He just sits Jack in the passenger seat, buckles him up, and drives.

-

**URGENT NEWS: NHL PROSPECT JACK ZIMMERMANN STILL MISSING AFTER ONE MONTH**

Four and a half weeks ago, college student and pre-med major Justin Oluransi called the Samwell Police Department when he discovered a pool of blood on the floor of his teammate (and fabled hockey player) Jack Zimmermann’s bedroom. No conclusive evidence was found at the time, and it was thought to be connected to a series of murders surrounding Zimmermann’s immediate social circle, perhaps a hostage situation. Unfortunately, no new leads showed themselves, and the case was changed from a missing person’s report to a murder investigation merely a week after the incident….

Despite the best efforts of police and search and rescue teams, Zimmermann’s body still has not been located. There remain no suspects in the case….

_If you or someone you know have any information on the whereabouts of Mr. Zimmermann, or any leads on a possible suspect, please contact your local authorities via the numbers listed below._

-

Kent’s happy for Jack, and really, how could he not be? Jack always wanted to make history, and now he has. They have, together. That’s all Kent ever wanted.

He also wanted to move in together and adopt a cat and watch horrible sitcoms at all hours of the night, and maybe even play hockey together again. The hockey bit won’t really work out, but at least for now, he has all the other stuff.

Now if only he could get Kit to stop trying to lick Jack’s wounds. They’re rotting, she’s gonna make herself sick.


End file.
